


A Many-Splendored Thing

by schweinsty



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweinsty/pseuds/schweinsty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being Anders' brother is really fucking difficult sometimes, but that doesn't mean Mike doesn't want the job. OR The one where catharses sometimes come after bouts of fighting and CPR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Many-Splendored Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt over on the almighty-kink meme: Mike has had to perform CPR twice in his life: once on Robb, and once on Anders.

“Because I do care,” Anders says that day in the shed. “About you.”

Mike doesn’t try to punch him again, but mostly because he’s too fucking tired and what good what it do anyway? 

Anders’ll do anything to justify himself; always has, always will. Maybe’s even fooled himself into believing it.

“Just fuck off,” he says again, and he waits until Anders leaves before he sits down on the floor and rests his head between his knees and doesn’t think of Val or Rob or what he felt like on his wedding day. 

 

Loki snaps his fingers and somewhere in the melee Ve screams ‘Giants!’ and the fighting starts to feel desperate.

Loki laughs. “Didn’t you read the stories? We both know how this ends, Ullr.”

 

_”Ragnarok?” Zeb says, eyes shining. “I know Ragnarok! I’ve read – oh. Oh. Oh, fuck me.”_

 

He’s sat in the chair long enough to notice that the plastic back is cracked (and one leg’s shorter than the other and there’s blood on his jeans from where he wiped his fingers when the paramedics came) but not long enough to care.

“-Have to wait for the swelling to go down before we’ll know more.”

Val takes a breath, and her head moves on his shoulder. “Is he – was there too much-“

The doctor doesn’t quite grimace, but it’s close. “Rob’s a strong young man, and your friend’s quick thinking may have saved his life. As for the rest – we’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

_Rob’s lips are cold and clammy, and his ribs shift and bend and crack like cold dried putty under Mike’s hands but Mike doesn’t think about that except they’ll hurt like a bitch once Rob wakes up because Mike’s not going to let him die, not now not ever and_

_There’s not time to breathe or speak, and he needs to stop long enough to make someone stop fucking fighting and call a godamned ambulance but he can’t stop because Rob’s not breathing and his heart’s not beating and Jesus fuck he’s not going to let him die-_

“Mike.” 

He jerks awake with a start; his head throbs and his jaw aches and his cricks and creaks and snaps as he stretches his arms and breathes. 

Anders jerks his hand from his shoulder and blinks. 

“Time ‘s it?”

“Past eleven. Ty’s looking after Axl. They didn’t know – when you didn’t pick him up from school – so I-”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Anders’ mouth turns down at the corner, momentarily, and his steady blue eyes examine Mike so Mike is minutely aware of the blood on his jeans and the bruising on his knuckles from the punch or two he threw. The patterned beige tile scuffs as he stretches out his leg and pops his wrist.

“So what ha-”

“Go mind your brothers, yeah? I’ll be home later.”

Anders’ lips twitch rebelliously, and his fingers clench, but he throws a look at Mike’s lap and leaves with a nod.

Mike looks down and sees his hands; there’s rust-brown under the nails and they’re shaking.

His back pops as he settles back and shuts his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights.

Just a little longer. Just until they know Rob’s going to be fine.

 

Mike waits on the kitchen steps. It’s dark out, and warm enough that occasionally beads of sweat slide down Mike’s collar and form like dew in the close, clenched space between his fingers and the pads on his palms.

There’s a tepid breeze that ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck every few minutes, and leaves rustle and insects chirp and plunk onto the sidewalk from the trees. Laughter and music drift out from the living room, where the party’s still going; from Axl’s open window above the kitchen, snatches from the Power Rangers and what sounds suspiciously like Ty making ice cream floats. Back when Elizabeth was around – when Axl was a baby and Anders hadn’t figured out how to flirt – Mike and Rob and Val would drive his truck out to the country and spend the night camped out on the tailgate, downing beers and passing around a joint. 

Mike feels so old sometimes it hurts.

Anders’ shirt’s untucked when he swaggers out the screen door. He’s brushing his fingers through his hair (they’re still wet from when he washed his hands in the bathroom off his old bedroom), and he’s shrugging on the leather jacket he’s taken to wearing these days, even in the humid heat of a January evening.

The stupid fucking prick is _grinning_.

It slides off his face for just a second when he sees Mike, but it slides back on again like plastic. 

“Hey, don’t-”

He talks so fast he actually gets the first two words out before Mike’s fist smashes into his jaw and knocks him off the top step.

Anders’ nose is bleeding when he picks himself up, and he holds his shoulder stiffly like it hurts. “I didn’t do anything she didn’t-”

He doesn’t stand up so quick this time, and when he does there’s something wary and hunted and angry about him that wasn’t there before.

“Fuck off,” Mike says, and he clenches his fist again and moves. “And don’t you dare show your face back here again.”

“Mike, I-” And for a second Anders just looks hurt like he did when Elizabeth left, but then the anger and the wariness win out and he stands up straight and zips his jacket. “You’re a fucking prick, you know that?”

Mike goes upstairs to check in on the boys and doesn’t watch him leave.

 

They touch base before the battle starts. Ty and Dawn and Zeb help Olaf draw the runes around the forest patch and set a tent up near the old rest stop. Jon – Vidar, rather – hides Ygddrasil inside and waits outside, armed to the teeth and then some. 

“Anyone’s hurt, after, just bring them here – and make sure Sjöfn stays safe, yeah?”

Mike nods and heads back to the clearing with Ty. He tells Michele to stay behind him – and she cups his cheek with one hand and her stomach with the other and he’s _not_ going to think about that until later – and heads to the front with Axl and Anders to say goodbye to Ty.

“For the record,” says Anders, “This is still a really stupid plan.”

Mike huffs a laugh and claps Axl on the shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “You’ve mentioned it.”

It won’t be long now. Loki’s scent is in the wind, and close, and many more beside.

 

The first night after Valerie leaves, he lies in bed and doesn’t shut his eyes. He thinks of her and Rob and their baby and the pain washes over him all at once like a breaking wave.

He thinks, _This is right_ and _This is fitting_ and _Maybe he wasn’t the only one who fooled himself_ , and he doesn’t shut his eyes and sleep all night, and when he wakes up his shoulder’s sore from lying immobile.

 

Ullr’s reaching for Loki with his hunting knife when Loki’s grin shows teeth and suddenly he’s not _there_ anymore (and when did he learn how to do that, they’ve only had their powers two weeks and the cock is-

“Mike!” And that’s not Bragi, it’s Anders screaming and Ullr doesn’t have to turn – doesn’t have the time – before Skadi’s behind Ullr, her bow raised and

 

“Stupid plan,” Anders says when Mike finishes explaining. “Face-to-face with Loki and an army of fucking giants? No fucking way.”

“If we don’t stop him,” says Dawn from her place across the bar (ignoring Michele’s snort of ‘mortal’), “He’ll take over New Zealand and trigger the Apocalypse.”

Anders huffs, sighs, and brushes his fingers through his hair. His smirk grows, falters, and slides back on again like it never left. “Eh. What the hell? Ragnarok it is.”

 

she fires. Ullr’s too late to do anything, but he stumbles forward to a crouch that won’t do anything to save him because it’s fucking _Skadi_ and her arrows never miss-

-And the stumble turns into a full-out sprawl when Anders tackles him to the ground.

 

“Because I do care,” Anders says. “About you.”

 

He kills Skadi. Has to, because she’s just going to pull back to fire again and kill them both, and Anders is still breathing – has to be, he’s moaning when Mike pushes him off – so there’s time enough to take her down before he turns back to his brother.

 

Except by the time he finishes with her and runs back to Anders’ side, there’s not a breath and not a heartbeat, and the arrow’s snapped off in his chest.

 

“Sjöfn!” He screams in between breaths when Axl comes to look and drops his sword. “Get her here now!”

Axl breathes – ‘Jesus Christ’ – and _runs_.

 

Anders’ lips are cold and clammy, and his ribs shift and bend and crack like cold dried putty under Mike’s hands but Mike doesn’t think about that except they’ll hurt like a bitch once Anders wakes up because Mike’s not going to let him die, not now not ever and

There’s not time to breathe or speak, and he needs to stop long enough to call for Axl again because what the _fuck_ is taking so long, and Anders is going to be pissed because the compressions jerk his body hard into the ground and he’s going to have scratches all over his back from the twigs and the stones and Ty’s going to needle him about being a pussy when he complains

and Axl’s not back and Michele isn’t anywhere and his arms are fucking aching and his lungs hurt but he can’t stop because Anders isn’t breathing and his heart’s not beating and Jesus fuck but Mike is not going to let his little brother die, not now, not now when everything is right and good and fitting and he still has to give him a slapping and explain how even if you care it doesn’t make it right to be a prick and

Sjöfn yanks him out of the way and says ‘Axl, hold him back’ and she’s got the stick in her hands and she shuts her eyes and touches Anders on the crown of his head, and Mike holds his breath and waits. 

 

The chair isn’t cracked this time, but it’s still cheap, uncomfortable plastic and the tiles are cold and hard under his feet.

“Your brother’s a very lucky young man,” the doctor in the bloody scrubs tells him with a kind and gentle smile. “He’s stable now, though in critical condition, and I think I can say he’s going to pull through.”

Axl says ‘Oh my God’ and holds Gaia close, and Ty and Dawn release a breath in tandem and Ingrid claps her hands and cheers. But Mike sees the doctor’s face and knows that’s not the end of it.

“I am worried, however, about some swelling around his T-10 vertebrae. It’s too early to tell, but there might be some paralysis. We’ll know more when the swelling goes down; we’ll do some-”

“Yeah,” Michele says. She grips his hand and kneads his palm in her fingers. “I’ll let them know the procedure, Sandy. If we can have a moment?”

Sandy with the smile nods and takes her leave. 

There’s still the police to deal with; more lies to come up with that explain why the camper they crashed barely looks dented but four of them were sporting serious injuries. Cleanup in the forest, too, with several bonfires to light and a shitload of ‘cleansing rituals’ that Ingrid and Olaf keep alluding to, but first-

First, Mike looks down and sees his hands; there’s rust-brown under the nails and the one Michele’s not gripping tight is shaking.

His back pops as he settles back and shuts his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights.

Everything else will keep for later. First he’s going to wait, and his family with him. They’ll keep vigil at the hospital until Doctor Sandy comes back.

Just a little longer. Just until they know Anders is going to be fine.


End file.
